


Fingertips

by nirroca



Series: Lavender [19]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bisexual Cassandra Pentaghast, Established Relationship, F/F, sleepy mornings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26729869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirroca/pseuds/nirroca
Summary: Ellana muses about scars and the touch of a lover.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast, Female Lavellan/Cassandra Pentaghast
Series: Lavender [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/607711
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	Fingertips

**Author's Note:**

> Some mention of blood and wound care.

Fingers. Slow on her bare skin, tracing the line of her waist. Pausing feather-light on the scar that runs from her ribs to her hip, tender in a way that she can’t give voice to, soft in a way that makes her heart clench, her throat tight - unable to say the words she fails to think of even if she could. 

She used to hate the sight of the thing. Still a puckered angry purple after all this time, only the edges fading to grey. It was never a pretty wound, but it was made all the more ugly with the memory of shaking hands and the burning of the alcohol that she’d used in a lame attempt to try and clean it. Flush out the filth of lowtown, if such a thing was even possible. With a leather belt between her teeth, she did the best she could. But her fingers were cold, clumsy, and her heart would race, her blood slick fingers would slip at every noise, thinking that the templars that were hunting her finally found her. Knowing that it was just the rats did nothing to settle the panic burning in her chest but she managed. She dared not touch a drop of the spirit to dull the pain, but in the end, it faded, and all she felt was the drag of thread through her skin and the prick of the needle, still hot, but less sharp than it had been in the beginning.

She used to hate the sight of the thing. But now, slowly, when she sees it she thinks less of the burning and the pain of being alone in a dark and dirty alleyway that night in lowtown. Now she thinks of those long calloused fingers. Of warm breath. The line of Cassandra’s strong nose pressing into her the way her own fingers slick with her own blood once did. She thinks of the softness of her lips burning her in a way that was so far removed from the alcohol and thread that once followed the same path.

She used to hate the sight of the thing. She knows a part of her always will because some spots are numb to her touch. And that is something she always wants to feel, knows she will never tire of. 

She used to hate the sight of the thing. But waking up to mornings like this - Cassandra half asleep, hands soft as her fingers trace invisible patterns on her stomach, swirling around her navel, blunt nails leaving a trail of goosebumps on the softness of her belly. Cassandra, protective even as she rests, holding her. Bare skin flush against her back, her leg heavy but welcome on her thigh. Cassandra, warm and tender, always within reach of the tips of her fingers. 

She used to hate the sight of the thing. But on mornings like these, it's easier to forget about it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed :)


End file.
